TARDIS for Sale
by biomechanical
Summary: A steampunk enthusiast buys a blue police public call box from an antique store, and ends up meeting the Doctor and Rose, who are in need of a little rescuing. Rated T for possible language. No slash. DW S2.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ever wonder what would happen if you found a full size police call box in an antique store? This is the story of a guy who did.**

**This story can take place any time during DW second season.  
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**I do not own Doctor Who or any other corporation that might be named in this story.**

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><p>Hello, my name is Brian Johnson. I live in Seattle Washington in the United States on Planet Earth in the year 2012. The need to mention the planet and year will make a whole of lot of sense later, I promise. Anyway, I consider myself an average twenty-six year old single guy who works as a software engineer at Microsoft and drinks far too much Starbucks coffee, but I do have what some would call an unusual interest: steampunk. I love everything steampunk. The Victorian past re-imagined for the future, how cool is that? I love steampunk so much that I wear an ascot with my suit and have cultivated a fine gentleman's mustache. You should see my cubicle. I have a modified computer made by Datamancer…I'm babbling, aren't I? Sorry! Look, just Google steampunk and you'll see what I'm talking about.<p>

A big part of steampunk for me is collecting antiques and let me tell you, if it works or is something so unusually unique, I have to have it. Don't worry. I live in a house, so I have plenty of room for my collection. One of my favorite antique stores is in a warehouse down on the waterfront. That place is the largest in the city, and it was there where I found the one 'antique' I will never, ever forget.

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><p>It was last Saturday and a day that started the same as any other. I woke up, I got dressed, I bought a sixteen ounce triple shot latte with a splash caramel and I went shopping. When I walked through the door of the antique warehouse, I waved at Paul. Paul, a much-older-then-me slightly heavy set guy from sitting around his store eating too much deep fried fish from the pier across the street, is the owner of the store and he really knows his antiques. He was busy with a customer so he returned a quick nod. And yes, I am on a first name basis with the owner of the store. I count him as a friend. Anyway, I slowly wandered down the aisles carefully examining any new piece I found and considered what I could do with it. Finally I made my way to the furniture section in the back and saw it sitting there standing out like a blue beacon amongst a sea of dull, brown wood.<p>

I felt the thrill of discovery grow in my chest as I approached the blue cabinet that said 'police public call box' across the top. I held my breath as I ran my fingers over a panel and felt the small bumps and grooves of the wood grain. I wanted to walk around it, but it was crammed up against a wall in between a bookshelf and a curio cabinet. So, I let my eyes absorb every detail of the call box I could see; its unlit light on its roof, the signs that announced its apparent purpose on the three sides I could see, the windows that seemed to glow a soft yellow, the instructional sign, the polished brass deadbolt lock and the two black door handles. I spied the manila price tag hanging by a string from a handle and flipped it over in my hand.

1963 British Police Call Box. $3,000.

My curiosity was on overload, I _needed_ to see what was inside, so I wrapped my fingers around the handle next to the call instruction sign and pulled. A tiny door opened revealing an antique telephone bolted to the inside of the small door. I was surprised by this as I expected the door to the whole cabinet to open, not this little hinged door. I leaned in and examined the telephone closely noting its tarnished condition. I also noticed that the notch of the larger door opened into the inside, but there was nothing but pure blackness. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew something wasn't right because I should be seeing the inside of the cabinet. I stuck my hand in and felt nothing but strange, pulsing warmth. The hair on my neck raised and I yanked my hand out slamming the small door shut. I shook my head and focused my attention on the handle of the other door. Giving a tug and a push, I was disappointed when the door didn't budge. Locked.

"Pretty neat, isn't it?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden intrusion and I whipped around to the source of the voice. "Paul!" I exhaled, "You scared me half to death!"

Paul held up his hands and chuckled, "Sorry, Brian. I didn't mean to scare you."

I shook my head, "It's alright," I breathed to calm my pounding heart, "Just tell me about this."

"Ah, the police public call box," he hooked his thumbs around his suspenders, "used by the British police in the first half of the last century. It was like a mini-police station up until the late 1960's when they started using hand-held radios. After that, these boxes were pulled off the streets and probably dismantled, so this one is a rare find, especially in this great a condition."

"Where _did_ you get it?" I let my gaze wander over blue box again.

Paul sighed deeply and leaned against the police box, "An alley."

"An alley?"

"Yep. Yesterday, I was walking down Pine Street toward the mall when I passed an alley and saw it sitting about fifteen feet in. I had to check it out, of course. I wondered what something like this was doing in an alley, so I stopped in every store around there asking about it. Only the girl at the sandwich shop knew anything and that was that it had been there for over a week. I even flagged down a bicycle cop and he said 'what police box'. He must have meant he didn't care if I took it, so, I called Terry to bring the truck and I brought it in. Spent the rest of the day cleaning it up and looking up police boxes on the internet."

Paul's story, as suspicious as I found it, only served to deepen my fascination of the blue box and I knew it was going to be mine. "If it was next to a Dumpster for over a week, why didn't the garbage men take it?" I asked.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "Maybe it was too big."

"And now you want to sell it for three thousand dollars?"

"Hey, one man's trash is another man's treasure."

I rolled my eyes and sighed with a small smile, "Do you have a key for the door?"

"Nope," he shook his head, "I was going to have a locksmith come out Monday."

"Don't bother, Paul," I ignored his confused surprise, "I'm taking it home today."

Paul was delighted, of course, and even gave me a discount. If I knew then what I know now, do you think I would I have still written that check for two thousand dollars? You bet your life I would.

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><p>"You are insane."<p>

That's my best friend, and roommate, Mike. He's a year older than me and we've known each other since kindergarten. He likes steampunk too, but probably not as much as me. He's more into 'spy gear'. Don't ask me why.

"Isn't it great?" I said with a proud grin.

"Uh, most people don't think insanity is 'great', Brian," he retorted with mock concern.

"Oh, come on, Mike!" I groaned in frustration, "You know I'm talking about the police box."

I had the current object of my infatuation delivered yesterday afternoon right after I bought it from Paul, and spent the rest of the day contemplating what I was going to do with it now that I owned it. For now, the box had to be kept in the garage since it was too wide to fit through the doors in the house. At times like these, I wished I had French doors.

"I know," Mike replied trying to quell his amusement, "This thing is pretty cool. The pics you posted on Facebook don't do it justice. So, what are you going to do with it anyway?"

"I don't know yet," as I grabbed the box's door handle and gave it a good shake. Damn. I kicked it's baseboard with a thud, "Man, I really want to know what's inside!"

"When's the locksmith going to be here?"

"Tuesday," I sighed as I looked up to the windows of the police box. I dragged over a stool and used it to elevate myself to the window. I peered at the frosted glass. The white film prevented me from seeing anything, but the soft yellow light from coming from within. Wait a minute. Why didn't I really notice this before now?

"Oh my god," I whispered.

Mike took a step closer, "What?"

I gave him a perplexed stare, "I can't see through the window, but I just realized there's a light on inside."

"Oh yeah. Did you notice the signs are lit up too?" my friend commented with growing interest.

I looked to confirm Mike's observation. "Must be battery operated? Weird. Oh, look at this," I jumped off the stool and went to the front of the police box. Mike followed and I opened the small telephone hatch. "Look inside and tell me what you see."

Mike gave me a suspicious look, but when he peered inside, he narrowed his eyes. "Darkness," he said and stuck his hand in just like I did at the store. He quickly pulled his hand out and stared at me in disbelief.

"So where's the light coming from?" I asked with an edge of wary excitement on my voice.

After a moment, my friend shrugged his shoulder and nonchalantly answered, "Maybe this is a magician's trick box." That seemed to make enough sense for him. "Well, I'm hungry," he changed the subject in a sudden loss of interest, "You want some pizza?"

"Yeah," I said as I followed him out of the garage. I stopped at the door and looked back at the mysterious police box. I simply could not wait for the locksmith come and open that thing up.

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><p><strong>AN: I would love to read your reviews, good or bad :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: this story is pouring out of me so here is another chapter already! Enjoy.**

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><p>Later that night, I lay in bed with my eyes wide open. I turned over and glared at the clock. Two forty-two am and my thoughts were racing at full speed. I can't get my mind off the strange, eerie police box sitting in my garage. Where did it really come from? Why are the windows and signs lit like that? How? According to Paul, they were lit when he found it. And what is with that weird telephone hatch?<p>

I heard a faint thud that sounded like it came from the other side of the house. Mike must be up too, I thought. I heard it again. Wait. Was that coming from the garage? I sat bolt upright. There was a rapid knock that startled me causing my heart to leap into my throat. "Brian!" A muffled, familiar voice hissed. I jumped to my feet and flung open my bedroom door to see Mike standing there with a finger pressed to his lips.

"I think someone is breaking into the garage," he whispered and motioned for me to follow him.

As we crept down the hall toward the door that led to the garage, my thoughts were on the police box. Why would anyone want to steal it? When Mike and I reached the door, he paused and pulled a pair of binoculars over his eyes. Night vision, I realized and rolled my eyes. Him and his spy junk. We heard a brief rustling sound on the other side of the door. There was definitely someone in the garage. Mike put his hand on the doorknob and held up his other hand to count down from three with his fingers. I broke out into a sweat from the tension and then I realized that I didn't have night vision goggles or a flashlight. Or anything. I was about to protest what Mike was about to do, but it was too late.

He jumped forward as the door flew open before him and he screamed, "Hold it right there!"

I followed close behind him and quickly took in the scene. The garage door was rolled open and parked in the driveway was a plain black moving truck with its loading door open. Inside was my police box, its soft light reflecting off the aluminum walls of the truck. A hooded figure clad in black was holding the loading door's pull rope turned and glared at us. At least I imagined it was a glare. The person's face was completely shrouded in shadow; I couldn't tell for sure.

"Hey!" I yelled, "That's my police box!"

I started to run toward the figure that yanked the loading door closed with a loud bang and dashed around to the cab. The truck started up and screeched out of my driveway as I ran after it for some reason that seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I reached the sidewalk and stopped to watch the truck disappear down the street.

Mike came up beside me and looked down the street with me, "Wow! That was crazy, wasn't it? I mean, who would break into someone's house in the middle of the night to steal that thing?"

"Well," I looked him in the eye with all the seriousness I could muster, "I'm going to find out. I have the license plate number right here." I tapped the side of my head with a finger.

My friend grinned, "I always knew that photographic memory of yours would come in handy some day."

"It got us through college, didn't it?"

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><p>The first thing I did in the morning was call in to work. I told them what happened last night and that I needed to take care of things. My boss feigned sympathy, but I didn't care as long as I had the day off. I sat down at my computer and logged into Facebook. I reposted the pics of my police box, told the social world what happened and asked that if anyone sees it, to contact me. Of course, all I got for that effort was a bunch of 'oh noes' and 'I'm sorry!' from the friend list.<p>

I got dressed and headed straight for the police station without stopping for my usual caffeinated beverage. Mike could not take time off work, so I was alone. After spending two hours at the station, I felt like I completely wasted my time. I filled out a report and told the officer every little detail I knew. All I got for _that_ effort was an 'I'll look into it'. Was a guy in a suit, ascot and derby hat really that hard to take seriously?

I was depressed and I must have shown it as I stood on the sidewalk outside the police station judging by the glances from the passersby. I didn't know what else to do. What else was there? I pondered that question as I started down the street toward a Starbucks. I shoved my hand in my pocket, pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

"Hi, Paul," I spoke into the phone, "Yeah, you are not going to believe what happened last night? Oh, you saw my Facebook post? Yeah, crazy, huh? Anyway, if you hear anything, call me." I paused to let him speak and when I looked up, I saw a black moving truck stopped at the light a block away. I couldn't believe it and broke into a sprint.

It was the same truck, I was sure of it. The plate number was different, but that long paint scratch on the back door was exactly the same. I was almost there when the light turned green and the truck slowly pulled away. "No!" I shouted in frustration and looked around frantically ignoring the strange glances from the people on the street.

A Zipcar. I sprinted for the car and fought to open the app on my phone. I skidded to a stop next to the driver door, "Come on. Come on!" I fussed at my phone. Finally, the car door clicked and I quickly got in. Thank god for Zipcar. I threw the car in gear, whipped it around and ended up about two blocks behind the black truck. For once, I was thankful for slow drivers that happened to be in front of my target. I considered catching up to the truck, but thought better of it and kept my distance. The truck took me all through downtown without any stops. It didn't matter. I would follow that truck for as long as it took for me to my police box back.

The truck then headed south past the stadiums, through the International District and into the industrial part of the city. The truck stayed on First Street. Hey, Starbucks Corporate, I thought amusingly. The truck continued past the large office building and for a moment I was disappointed. There was no police-box-stealing conspiracy at the coffee capital of the world. Bummer. Mike would have _loved_ that.

Finally the truck turned right down a side street. I started to get nervous as I continued my pursuit. There weren't any other cars on this street, would they notice me? My grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily, but I had to keep going even thought it went against my better judgment. The truck slowed and pulled up to the gated entrance leading into a cluster of smaller warehouse buildings. The gate opened automatically. I kept on driving and kept my eyes forward hoping it would fool the truck driver if he, or she, happened to be watching.

Once past, I decided to get out of there as fast as possible. I was covered in sweat from frayed nerves and now I desperately needed coffee.

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><p>"Did you tell the police?" Mike asked me sternly after I finished telling him about the truck when he came home from work.<p>

"Of course I did," I crunched my eyebrows at him, "They didn't seem to believe me."

"How could they not believe you?"

"I don't know! They just didn't, ok?" I held a hand to my forehead as if it might help me think.

"Then there's only one thing we can do."

I looked at my best friend and recognized that face, that mischievous grin. It was the same one I saw on him that time we filled the fountain at the park with so much soap, there was mountain of suds some twenty feet high that lasted for weeks. "What?" I asked carefully.

"We go over there and…"

"Knock on their door?" I interrupted, "Are you crazy?"

"No, you ninny," he laughed, "we sneak up to a window and see what's inside."

"No, Mike. No."

"Hell, we might even have to break in," he continued, ignoring my protest.

"Break in?"

"Hey, Brian, this is your stupid police box that you just _had_ to have, so do you want to find out if it's in there or not?"

I pursed my lips as I glared at him.

"Look," he said in that voice that I knew was meant to convince me to go along with his crazy idea, "All we need is pictures, right? To show the police? Then you can get your cabinet back."

"And how do we explain how we got those pictures, huh? It's called breaking and entering, Mike. I don't want to get arrested."

"Okay, okay. I was only joking about breaking in, but we do need to get to a window."

He looked at me expectantly and when I answered with a deep frown of disapproval, he went on, "Alright. If you're not going, then I still will."

I shot him an incredulous glare and I knew that I fell into his dumb little trap. Again. God, I hated him sometimes.

"Alright. I'll go," I said in defeat.

He laughed, "Ooo, this is going to fun! You just wait, Brian."

I sighed deeply as I watched Mike dash off into his room, probably to collect his 'high tech spy equipment'. What are best friends for?

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><p><strong>AN: Please be kind and review, thanks! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yep, musicalcomet, that is indeed the same antique store I used in this story. That place is awesome! Thanks for your compliment, I do appreciate it. Anyway, sorry I took so long in posting this chapter, it won't happen again. :)**

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><p>"You look like a burglar," I commented on my best friend's attire with a disapproving frown when I entered our living room. Mike was wearing a black beanie, t-shirt, jacket, combat boots, and cargo pants with pockets filled with who-knows-what sort of 'spy stuff' he could cram into them. Around his neck hung his night vision goggles and he was stuffing some device thing into a small black backpack. He exaggerated a sigh at my comment and retorted, "I'm supposed to look like Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible."<p>

I moved over to the sofa and plopped down only to hear Mike erupt in laughter. "You are not going dressed like Sherlock Holmes, are you?" he snorted as he looked over my Victorian attire. My mouth flew open, "And why not? It's a perfectly fitting outfit."

He rolled his eyes, "Alright, but take that hat off."

"It's an essential part of the costume, Mike."

"No deerstalkers, Brian. I draw the line there."

I yanked the hat off my head and tossed it to the floor. "Fine," I said as I grabbed my derby hat and adjusted my ascot.

"And what's with the goggles?"

I looked down to the decorative brass goggles hanging around my neck, "In case I need to protect my eyes or I need to look at something up close," I pointed out the hinged magnifying lenses attached to the side of the goggles, "I did take out the sprocket insert so I can see just fine through them."

Mike just shook his head with an amused grin as he pulled his backpack over his shoulders. I checked my pocket watch, ten pm. Time to go. I slid the watch back into my vest pocket and rose to my feet. "Ready?" I asked my friend.

Mike wore a maniacal grin as he picked up a flashlight and brandished it toward me like a weapon, "Oh yeah!"

A Dick's burger and chocolate shake later found us parked at what we considered to be a good distance away from the gate, but still in a line of sight. We were there for an hour and saw nothing come in or out of there. There was a loud slurping noise coming from Mike as he reached the last of his shake. "I'm ready when you are, Brian," he said followed by a belch.

"Are you sure about this, Mike?" I asked him. I was nervous as hell and I could that a part of Mike was too. But it wasn't his style to be nervous, and besides, I did want to know if my police box was in that warehouse. And what they were doing with it.

"Brian," Mike twisted in his seat to look at me, "We are just a couple of guys out for a walk."

"On a deserted street surrounded by warehouses in the middle of the night," I said flatly.

"Look. There's a rave venue right over there. We can always say we got lost looking for the party."

"On a Monday night," I started but caught his raised eyebrow glare. "Oh alright. Let's go. But first," I paused to undo the clasp of the cloak I was wearing and worked it from around my shoulders until I could shove it into the backseat, "the tweed was getting uncomfortable," I finished in response to his questioning look.

Mike chuckled as he and I got out of the car and started walking down the street to the warehouse. I secured my derby hat and I couldn't help but shiver. I certainly wasn't cold because I was wearing a black wool gentlemen's coat with silver cog buttons. My favorite coat. No, not cold at all, just nervous. Really nervous, and to top it off, the growing paranoia made me break out in a sweat. When we reached the gate, Mike whispered, "Don't stop. This is part of the surveillance."

I did as he said and kept my eyes on the pavement as I put one foot in front of the other. Suddenly, Mike grabbed my sleeve and pulled me down an alley at quick pace.

"Where are we going?" I hissed.

"To their hideout."

"How do you know where it's at?"

He stopped and gazed at me like I told him the sky was falling. "What?" I asked in confusion.

"For a Holmes fan, you sure are oblivious, Brian," he stated.

"Huh?" I was at a total loss.

"Look," he pointed to the building we were headed to, "it's the only place around here with the lights on, and there's a Dumpster right underneath that window. So shut up and come on."

For as annoying as Mike can be, he really is a genius sometimes. I would never tell him that though. His ego is large enough as it is. I focused my attention on our destination. It was a newer, single story warehouse, not one of the old brick ones. This looked like it was built in the eighties or nineties and had two-foot high windows just underneath the roof line to let in light.

Mike easily climbed onto the Dumpster and almost fell into a fit of laughter as he watched me try to climb up as well. My shoes couldn't find a grip on the damp, slick plastic lid. I stopped and glared at him intensely, making sure I curled my lip enough for him to know I didn't share his humor. Finally, he bent over and held out a hand, "I can't believe you wore loafers." I took his hand and snarled, "Oh shut up." He almost started laughing again as he pulled me up.

The height of the Dumpster was just enough to let us peer though the window. The interior wasn't that large, maybe fifty by a hundred feet. Stacked up in a single row along the wall underneath us and to our right were crates and smaller cardboard boxes. The wall across from us was two loading bay doors. The black moving truck had been backed in and parked just behind one loading door. The wall on the left had a smaller room built out from it that must be the office area. Most important of all was my police box right there in the middle of the floor space with its still lit windows and signs. I could see its side and part of its doors.

"My police box," I whispered to Mike without looking away. He mumbled an answer as I watched two men in jeans and jackets walk up to the police box. If you saw them, you would probably say they were henchmen. One carried an axe and the other carried a power saw. I looked in horror as the man with the axe lifted the tool and brought it down on the box with the clang. My horror turned to astonishment as the axe bounced off the wood without leaving so much as a scratch. He tried the axe again with the same result. The other henchman stepped up with the power saw. I could hear the machine's loud screech as its blade made contact with the police box's door. Sparks showered the man and the floor, but after a few seconds, the man pulled the saw away and again, there was no sign of damage.

My mouth was agape as I turned my head to look at Mike. He returned the same shocked expression. I gulped and returned my attention to the inside of the warehouse. A third older man dressed in a black suit holding a cane was now standing with the two men in front of the police box. I could see their mouths moving, but could hear nothing. "I wish I could hear what they were saying," I whispered. Mike tapped my shoulder for my attention and he handed me a headphone ear piece.

I took the ear piece and stared in gratitude as I realized he was holding a small dish up to the window. I was so engrossed that I didn't even realize until now Mike was holding it. Damn. I guess I can't make fun of his spy junk anymore. I also realized that he was wearing binoculars. Of course he had the 'hands free' kind. "Do you have another pair of those?" I pointed to the binoculars. He fumbled for a moment as he reached into a pocket on his cargo pants and retrieved a smaller, not hands free, pair of binoculars. "Thanks," I whispered as I took them and focused in on my police box.

"Bring the Time Lord over here," barked the man in the black suit as he motioned toward the office.

After a few moments, two more men walked out the office door carrying a lanky man with scruffy brown hair by the armpits, his red-shoed feet dragged on the ground. He appeared to be close to my age, and he was handcuffed along with a chain attached to shackles on his ankles. I was reminded of seeing that on high profile prisoners on television shows. It looked like he was ruffed up a bit too judging by the bleeding lower lip and the state of his clothes. The light blue button shirt he wore was unbuttoned half way down and hung loosely over his brown pinstriped slacks.

When they reached the front of the police box, the men dropped him and I cringed at the 'thock' sound his knees made when they hit the cement floor. There was a distinct but brief moan of pain as the captive hunched over resting his head on the floor. "Open the TARDIS," the man in the black suit demanded. The Time Lord, whatever that means, raised his head and glared at the man with such fury, I thought he was going to jump up and attack right then.

"Brian," I heard Mike whisper, "What's a TARDIS?"

"I have no idea. Now shut up."

The man raised his cane and touched the end of it to the chained man, who suddenly fell over to his side screaming in pain. To my horror, I realized the cane was a cattle prod. The man in black pulled back the cattle prod and snarled, "Open the TARDIS!" The man on the floor stared up at his torturer with a hate I've never seen before. "You'd better kill me," he spat in an English accent, "or I promise you. Oh, I promise you I will destroy you!"

The man in black glared at his victim on the floor for moment, then straightened himself. "I'd rather not kill you, Doctor," he said smugly, "You're worth more alive than dead, but if you won't open the TARDIS, maybe she will." He motioned to a thug, who immediately sat the axe he held down and moved over to the back of the moving truck. He opened the rolling door and climbed inside. The light in the warehouse was enough that I could see a blonde headed woman with a gag in her mouth sitting against the back wall. I felt sick at the thought of what they would do to her.

When the henchman grabbed her up by the arms, she struggled, but her hands were tied behind her back preventing her from being very effective. He pulled her out of the truck onto her feet and walked behind her, guiding her roughly by the back of her neck up to the man in black. When she saw the chained man lying on the floor, she renewed her efforts to break free and I heard a muffled, "Doctor!" The bound man on the floor looked at her in horror and shock. "Rose!" he called out and fought against chains that wouldn't budge.

The man with the cattle prod stepped in front of Rose and spoke in a stern tone, "Open the TARDIS." Rose looked at him with tears in her eyes and shook her head vehemently. "I will kill the Doctor if you don't." Her eyes narrowed and she kicked him in the shin. I almost cheered aloud, but immediately clasped my free hand over my mouth. I glanced over to Mike and before I could say a word, he yanked the headphones out of my hand and quickly stuffed the dish into his pack.

"What are you doing?" if I sounded exasperated it was because I wanted to see what was happening in there and I wanted to be able to hear it as well.

"I'm going to rescue her," he spoke with a determination I've never heard in him before.

"Wh-what did you say?" I was flabbergasted.

He jumped off the Dumpster and looked up at me, "I can't let her die, Brian."

I too jumped down and faced my insane friend, "Have you completely lost your mind?"

Mike turned and marched down the alley. I chased after him, "Mike, what are you going to do? They probably have guns!"

"Don't worry. I'll think of something."

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><p><strong>AN: reviews would be great and encouraging. Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: thanks for the review, RiverDoctorPotterSong. Without further ado, here's what happens next :)**

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><p>I grabbed Mike by the shoulder and firmly pulled him back. He stopped and glared at me with a look of determination I have never seen on him in all the years I've known him. "We shouldn't do anything, Mike," I said in an even tone in an attempt to convince him to listen to me, "but call the police."<p>

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, but I continued, "Look, there is something illegal going on here, so let's just get the police here and let them take care of it."

"No," he said sternly, "by the time the police get here, she could be dead."

I had to admit that he had a point. After all, how many movies have the police showed up only _after_ the hero saved the damsel in distress? I sighed with a deep breath and tried to think of what we could possibly do. Other then knocking on the front door, which seemed like a really bad idea, I had nothing.

"Ok," I said finally, "Do you have a plan?"

Mike furrowed his eyebrows in thought, "Not yet. But come on. Let's get back to the car."

I nodded and followed him as we quickly returned to the car. For a moment, I thought my friend had regained his sanity and we were just going to drive away. But no. Mike went straight for the trunk and rummaged around in there for I don't know what. I stood next to him and watched as he pulled out a bundle of rope that he slung over his shoulder, two small canisters, one he shoved in his pants pocket and the other he handed to me, and four small black gun-looking things.

"What's the rope for?" I asked.

"You remember Boondock Saints," he replied, "never go anywhere without your rope."

I looked at the canister. "Mace?" I asked as he shoved two of the gun things in my hands. I put the mace in my coat pocket so I can give the 'guns' a closer inspection. "Mike, are these…tasers?" I asked with a good mixture of surprise and concern, "Please tell me these are not tasers."

"Yeah, and don't hold them like that!" he snatched the tasers from me and demonstrated how to properly hold them without electrocuting yourself. "Besides, you didn't bring any weapons."

"On contraire," I retorted and reached into an inside coat pocket to produce my most prized possession, a genuine Tesla gun. Oh let me tell you this piece of genius from a genius is a real beauty. It has a handle like a pistol, but instead of a gun barrel it has a glass tube connected to a brass tube. The whole thing is a work of art. Every time I lay my eyes on it, I smile with pride that it belongs to me.

"Brian," my friend raised his eyebrow and looked at me like I was the dumbest thing he'd ever seen, "You brought a toy gun? This isn't a role-playing game, this is real!"

My mouth flew open in protest, "This _is_ a real gun, Mike!"

He opened his mouth to continue arguing but closed it in favor of glaring at me instead. We've had this argument before anyway, and now probably wasn't the best time to rehash the subject. Mike held up his hands in defeat, "Alright, dude, whatever." He shook his head and turned his attention to the contents of the trunk.

I stuffed the Tesla gun back into the inside pocket and the two tasers in the outside pocket. "So," I said as I carefully tucked a taser on a coat pocket, "this is the plan then? We go in like a couple of idiots armed with pepper spray and tasers?"

"And your stupid Tesla gun," he answered with a grin.

"Oh, ok," I nodded at the insanity, "I don't suppose you thought of what to do in case they have guns?"

"I didn't see any guns," he was too nonchalant with that reply, like he was covering up for the fact that, no, he didn't think about that.

"Mike!" I shrieked, "Do you really think men like that don't have guns? Everyone knows that the mafia uses guns. Oh god," I gasped at what I just said. "Mafia. My god, Mike, what if that's who they are? Russians. They'd have to be the Russian mafia, and they're the worst. Probably cut your fingers off and splash the stubs with vodka. Oh god! I don't want to loose my fingers, Mike."

My friend stood silent with an impatient expression and rolled eyes during my paranoid rant. "Are you finished?" he asked flatly. I just looked at him and I know my fear was a glaring neon sign on my face. "Look. We have the element of surprise," he grabbed my shoulders to reassure me of his plan; "They don't know we're here, so when we rush through the door and zap them, they won't know what hit them."

Now, before I continue, I would like to take a moment to explain that I'm not a coward. Ok so I am, a bit. It's just that I'm a software geek with a passion for steampunk. What can _I_ do? I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I nodded and felt my racing heart slow down a few paces. He nodded too and smiled. "Alright, buddy," he closed the trunk of the car and held up the tire iron, "Let's go."

As we made our way to the gate, my adrenaline was pumping, hard. I could hear my heart beat in my ears and the sweat drip down my forehead. I could not believe that I, Brian Johnson software geek steampunk guy, was about to rush into a warehouse filled with Russian gangsters and zap them with tasers. What the _hell_ was I thinking? Mike and I decided to climb over the fence as close to the building as possible.

Once we over the fence, we crouched and ran as fast and quiet as we could along side the wall toward the door. When we reached the door, Mike motioned for me to wait as he stepped in front of it and peeked through the small square window. He rested his back against the wall on the other side of the door, and gave me thumbs up. He readied himself with a taser and put his hand on the door handle.

This was it. The moment of truth. With a deep breath, I ready myself with a taser in each hand. It was now or never. I gave Mike a nod, and he flung open the door. I bolted inside and swept my eyes over the room letting my photographic memory keep track of the details. Rose and the Doctor, who were still bound, stood in front of the police box, and the four thugs and their boss stood right behind them. No one had any visible weapons.

"What the hell?" the boss man with the cattle prod exclaimed with bewildered look. The Doctor and Rose shared his expression, their mouths slightly open as they watched Mike and I charge toward them. I raised my taser and pulled the trigger.

Now, I've never used a taser before, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I was a bit shocked to see the thug I aimed for clutch the wired prongs as he twitched and slowly slumped to the floor. When he was lying on his back with his eyes closed, I dropped the taser sending it clattering against the concrete. Mike, after shocking one of the other henchmen, did the same.

As I pulled another taser out and aimed it, I said with what I hoped was hard conviction, "That's my police box and I want it back!" Unfortunately, my voice was a bit shaky. Rose and the Doctor exchanged looks of surprised confusion, while the boss stared incredulously at me.

I realized I was standing in the open staring down what was probably the mob armed with nothing more than a taser and a can of mace. Oh yeah, and the Tesla gun. Can't forget about that. "And we're here to save the girl too!" Mike shouted. The loudness of his voice made me flinch. "Will you _shut up_?" I hissed under my breath.

"Get rid of them," the man in charge said flatly. The two henchmen gazed upon us with expressionless faces and held up their right hand pointing a finger at us. You know, like miming a pistol. I was confused by this gesture and thought for a moment that they were trying to be funny, but then I watched in frozen amazement as their pointing finger morphed into a black gun barrel before my very eyes. I felt like a deer stuck in headlights. What was going on?

Mike grabbed my arm and yanked me into a run with him. "Run, you idiot!" he screamed and I didn't even have to think, my feet did the thinking for me. We bolted for the closest crates along the wall running even faster when we heard shots ring out and bullets ricochet behind us. We dove behind a crate and landed hard on the floor almost knocking the wind out of me.

"What do we do now? And what _the hell_ were those gun hand things?" I said hissed in an overly panicked voice. Mike gulped and wiped sweat off his brow. He was just as scared as I was. "I don't know," he spoke quickly, "this wasn't part of the plan. Not. At. All."

I heard the footsteps of the approaching thugs armed with gun hand things, and did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out the Tesla gun, clicked the dial on its side to the highest setting of five and took aim. "Oh Jesus," Mike moaned, "You've gone insane and we're gonna die." I kept my eyes on the edge of the crate and focused on ignoring my idiot friend and not trembling.

As soon as a henchman came into my view, I squeezed the trigger.

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><p><strong>AN: One more chapter to go! Oh and reviews, you post em, I love reading em! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Alrighty! Here is the final chapter. Enjoy. EDIT: not sure what went wrong, but some reason this chapter was coming up as an error, so I tried to add it again. Here goes...  
><strong>

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><p>When I squeezed the trigger of that gorgeous Tesla gun, it hummed with electricity before unleashing a massive bolt of lightning that cracked through the air and struck the thug square in the chest. His body shook violently as tendrils of electricity coiled around him. I released the trigger and the bolt of lightning vanished. I was speechless as I watched the man, now with a smoking burned hole in his chest, collapse twitching to the floor.<p>

The other henchman looked down on us with a cold, expressionless stare and aimed his gun hand. "Shoot him!" Mike cried and shook my shoulder in excited panic. I aimed and pulled the trigger, watching in astonishment as the lightning gripped onto the thug's chest and jolted him down to the floor. I took my finger off the trigger and stared wide eyed at the Tesla gun.

"Woo hoo!" Mike shouted in excitement, which of course, shocked me out of my reverie of the wonderful antique weapon. He jumped to his feet and yanked me up to mine. Mike wore a wide, happy-to-be-alive grin and so did I. "I can't believe that worked!" he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around me and I joined him in a happy dance of victory. "I told you this gun was real," I laughed.

We stopped dancing, took a step back, and cleared our throats. "Well, I guess I can't make fun of your steampunk crap anymore," he said with a smile. "It's ok," I said, "I can't make fun of your spy junk anymore either." We started laughing, only to be interrupted by a very British, very female voice calling out, "Oiy! You two!"

Mike and I looked over the crate we were still behind and saw the Doctor standing next the police box with an expectant look. Rose, who wasn't gagged anymore, stood next to him with the same expression. Mike rushed over to Rose and started working on the knots in the rope that held her wrists. I hurried to the Doctor and noticed the boss man was lying unconscious at their feet. The cattle prod rested some twenty feet away. Apparently they took our grand entrance as a good time to take that guy out.

"Allo, I'm the Doctor," he introduced himself in a cheery voice. "Thanks for the rescue. That was brilliant!" the Doctor continued, "Now, if you fetch my jacket from over there, I have something that'll take these right off." He shook his chains and motioned toward the office with a friendly smile. "Sure", I said and jogged off toward the office. I found myself pondering the strangeness of the Doctor. He was several inches taller than me and his spiky hair made him seem even taller. Confidence radiated off him almost as if it were a tangible substance, and his eyes set in his friendly face seemed to be…timeless.

In the office, the only jacket in the room was laying across a paper littered desk. The jacket was the same brown pinstripe as the Doctor's pants, so it had to be his. I ran back to the Doctor and saw Mike crouched next to the boss on the floor checking for a pulse. "Alive and out cold," he said with a grin turning glossy eyed as he looked at Rose, who was now untied. Thankfully, the Doctor seemed oblivious to that look and instead was rather happy to see his jacket.

"Hold it up there," he said to me. I did as he asked and he fished around an inside pocket, sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth in concentration. His face brightened and he pulled out a large metal pen looking thing with an end that lit up with a blue light when he turned it on. He touched the glowing end to the cuffs on his wrists and they opened up. My mouth fell open as he shook off the wrist cuffs that clattered to the floor and bent over to take care of the ankle cuffs. "Ah, much better," the Doctor said with a satisfied smile kicking the chains away from him, took his jacket from my hands, and looked me over as if he were trying to figure me out.

"Say, is that a Tesla Electro-Stun gun?" he asked with curiosity and pointed to my coat pocket. I held up the Tesla gun and nodded with a proud smile. "Oh! That is a beauty," the Doctor said and focused on the gun in fascination, "I _knew_ there were two of them, that old devil. He told me he made only one and I believed him since the other one is in a museum on Meridian Alpha, in this very year as we speak no less."

The Doctor spoke like he knew Tesla personally, and I stood silent a moment trying to make it fit into the world I thought I knew. "Nice choice, by the way," he continued, "using a gun like that on robots. Good thinking. The only thing I don't get is," he leaned toward me with a raised eyebrow and the kind of look a man that always gets what he wants, "who are you and what did you mean by 'your police box'?"

"Oh uhh well," I struggled for words when the Doctor's focus turned on me all the sudden, "I'm Brian Johnson and this is my best friend Mike Brewer," I said as I stuffed the Tesla gun in a pocket, "and I bought that police box at an antique store. These guys stole it, so I followed them here."

Rose came around and stood next the Doctor. "Thanks for helping us," she said in a sweet voice and a pretty smile. I could feel my face flush and all I could muster was a small smile. "Robots?" I managed as my eyes wandered over the boss man lying on the floor out cold.

"No, not him. He's an alien," the Doctor narrowed his eyes, "You didn't know his thugs were robots? Who are you again?"

I glanced at Mike, who had puppy eyes for Rose, which meant he was going to be useless from here on out. I raised my hands and said, "Brian. Look. Okay. There is clearly a lot of confusion here, so why don't I just tell you what happened and we can go from there?" Rose and the Doctor agreed and I told them my tale starting from when I bought the police box from the antique store. The Doctor's face was quite animated throughout my story and Rose pinched him quiet a couple of times when he wanted to interrupt to ask questions. I could tell that she had eyes only for him. Boy, is Mike going to look like an idiot later.

"So, we kick down the door with tasers ablazing and here we are," I finished.

"Wow," the Doctor said incredulously, "You really had to no idea what was really going on here, did you?" I shook my head. "That is just _brilliant_!" he exclaimed happily, "That's what I love about you humans, unpredictably and creatively brave."

"Well, umm, do I get to have an idea of what's going on?" I asked sheepishly at first but continued to blurt out, "I'd like to know why you talk like you're not human? Are you some sort of space traveler? But why did he call you a Time Lord? What does that mean? And why is that police box called a TARDIS?"

The Doctor puffed out his cheeks and ran his fingers through his hair with a look like he was deciding what exactly to tell me. "Oh, just tell him," Rose said, giving him a playful push on his shoulder.

"Alright," the Doctor said at last, "I'm an alien called a Time Lord. Rose here is human from London, uhh, here on Earth. And this," he gestured to the police box, "is my ship, a TARDIS. Not just a space ship but a time ship, and that's why Maroth there," he nodded toward the boss still out cold on the floor, "wanted it so badly. He's an alien too. Different species. See, Rose and I came to Seattle to see the sights, the Space Needle, Pikes Market, ride the Duck. You know, touristy stuff. Had no idea Maroth crashed his ship in the Sound back around New Year's. Surprised you didn't notice. The local news did do a story about seeing strange lights in the sky that night. Anyway, Maroth being a criminal around a few galaxies knew that if he stayed on one planet for long, he'd get caught. So, when he saw me, he knew my ship was close by. The rest I think you can figure out."

I nodded and mentally absorbed what I was hearing. Amazingly, I found that I could accept it pretty easily. After all, it did explain a lot of things about the world. "Well," the Doctor said as he tucked in his shirt and slipped into his jacket, "I'd like to thank you both again for the rescue. Brilliant, you know. You should be proud. But Rose and I have to be off to the Shadow Proclamation to drop this bloke off."

"What about the, er, robots?" I asked.

"Oh them?" the Doctor smiled mischievously, "Harmless. The military will probably cart them off to some secret base and be stumped over them for years. Gotta keep em on their toes." He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the police box, though he didn't open the door all the way. He picked up Maroth by the arms and dragged him through the door, disappearing inside. I tried to see inside and caught a peek at something gold and glowing turquoise before the door closed.

Rose stayed outside and Mike was standing close to her asking her out for coffee for I think the fourth time. She, of course, refused as nicely as she could, but she did give him a peck kiss on the cheek in thanks for his help. That did it in for Mike, he was speechless. Didn't take long for him to look like an idiot, did it?

She walked up to me and took my hand in gentle handshake. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Brian," she said, "You never got to see inside that police box, did you?"

I shook my head, "The locksmith was coming out on Tuesday."

"Rose!" the Doctor called leaning half way out the box door and looked at his wrist even though he wasn't wearing a watch, "We gotta go."

She dashed over to him, grabbed the collar of his jacket pulling him close and whispered something in his ear. The Doctor smiled and nodded, then winked at us and disappeared back inside the blue box. Rose looked over her shoulder at us and said, "Stick around for a minute. You'll like this bit." With a smile, she stepped into the box and closed the door. Mike stood next to me and we kept on our eyes on the strange blue police box. The light on its roof flashed and there was a grinding swooshing noise that pulsed slowly from the box as right there before our very eyes, it vanished.

"I think I'm in love," Mike whispered.

"Me too," I spoke in awe, "that is the most extraordinary blue box I have ever seen." I was smacked across the shoulder and I looked at Mike in bewilderment.

"I was talking about Rose, you idiot," he said in frustration and stalked off to the exit of the warehouse.

.

.

A couple of hours later, Mike and I sat quietly on our sofa in our living room drinking a beer. The car ride back home was silent. So much happened that it was almost too much to mentally absorb. I held the Tesla gun in my lap and still could not believe that it actually worked.

"You think we'll ever see her again?" Mike asked me with a bit of sadness in his voice.

I shrugged my shoulder and shook my head, "I don't know, Mike." I could tell he was heartbroken, but I knew he'd get over it. He's done it before. As for me, I decided that I was going to write what happened down. Maybe spin it as a sci-fi adventure, or something.

Suddenly, there was breeze that came from nowhere and the room filled with a familiar grinding swooshing noise. We stared wide eyed as the blue police box materialized right there in the middle of our living room. The door opened and out stepped Rose, followed by the Doctor. "Hello," they said at the same time.

Mike jumped to his feet. "Rose!" he said with a stupid grin. I slowly stood up trying to figure out what to say as I watched the Doctor systematically examine pieces of my steampunk collection on the nearby shelf.

"We were thinking," Rose spoke, "that since you helped us out and you never got to see inside the TARDIS, we'd show you." The Doctor sat my steampunk modified table lamp back on the end table and stood in front of the TARDIS door with a wide smile.

My face lit up. I had been dying of curiosity. I nodded and I knew I had a stupid look on my face, but I didn't care. The Doctor's smile grew wider as he pushed the door in with his hand and stepped aside. I vaguely noticed Mike peeling his eyes off Rose and joining me in staring at the enormous impossible room that lay through that door.

Mike followed me inside and we were both amazed. It was beautiful. The most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. "It's like something right out of Jules Verne," I whispered to Mike and he nodded. The Doctor skipped around us to a console in the center of the room covered in buttons and switches. Rose closed the door behind us and joined the Doctor waving us over.

Mike and I approached to the console and I was fascinated by the antique-looking, decidedly steampunk, controls of this alien space ship. "So, where do you wanna go?" the Doctor asked with a sparkle of adventure in his eye.

"You mean we get to come with you?" I asked sounding quite stupefied.

"Yes!" the Doctor beamed, "Anywhere and any _when_! You choose."

I thought about this a moment. "Can I meet Nikola Tesla?" The Doctor laughed and nodded vigorously as he turned a dial and pulled a lever.

And so began our adventure with the Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS. I'll have to write another story for sure. Wait. Did I say adventure? I really meant adventures. Plural.

End.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading this story. I hoped you enjoyed it. :)**


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